


Cavalier

by bravelikealady



Series: Ghost of Ambrose [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Post Canon Events, ambrollins - Freeform, and yet here i am with the fix it fic day one, i said i wasn't engaging with this trash storyline, idk if this will be a series but i'm open to suggestion, the shield - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 12:13:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16174844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravelikealady/pseuds/bravelikealady
Summary: post Monday Night Raw, October 1st 2018Dean Ambrose has wrecked an innocent greenroom and he still feels like shit, lost, angry, somewhere else.It's Seth who finds him. It's always Seth."I woke hardI woke heavyFor the half way stopFive whole hours inWhen I woke hardI woke heavy with the live or parts"





	Cavalier

“I would give you anything, Dean. ANYTHING.” 

 

Dean finally looks at him, has no choice. From his spot on the hard concrete floor Seth towers over him. It’s something he’s lived. Something he’s dreamed about, as fantasy, as nightmare.

 

But now he’s withering, his eyes pleading. 

 

_ How do they get darker when he’s desperate for me? _

 

Seth’s chest rises and falls rapidly, but it isn’t the quickened breath of adrenaline and anger. It’s choppy, dysrhythmic. A wounded animal, frozen, nowhere to run.

 

He’s got plenty of places to go.

 

“I’m… I’m sorry I yelled. It’s not okay, I’m sorry,” Seth makes a move towards him but then remembers how they’re here in the first place and stops.

  
  


Dean felt how hard he was hurting Seth and felt how much Seth wanted it to stop, not for his own discomfort but because he wanted Dean to be  _ right here- _ with him. Really with him. 

Dean never knew that before, never felt that before. Not in the early days, not in the time where they were face to face, gritted teeth, wild eyed, tearing each other’s hair out. Not in those quick, confused run ins outside of the ring. 

 

_Not even after…_ after he left the Authority, rebuilt himself, killed whatever sad simpering boy he was and became a man… Not even after he stood in front of all those people and apologized and day after day atoned, begged, offered, kneeled…

 

But Dean knows it now. Knows Seth is scared of him leaving. Knows Seth feels like he’s dying. Maybe that’s why he needs to sit in it. Maybe that’s why he’s so angry in the first place.

 

“How bout you don’t worry about me, huh? How bout you and your title go to some press tour something or other, go greet, go meet.”

 

“Please don’t do this-”

 

Dean rises to his feet, stretches his neck and shoulder casual, cool, “Introduce some new performance center, or sell your coffees and build your camp, whatever it is you do.”

 

“Dean, none of that is for… I don’t know, it’s not some selfish game. I wanna b-”

 

“You go brag. You go hold that title and tell everyone that you’re the man. Big time, huh? You got everything.”

 

“No I don’t.”

 

“Yeah, you do,” Dean makes to leave but there’s a hand grasping his bicep. He stops. “Let me go, Seth.”

 

“Is that what you want?”

 

Dean swallows hard, closes his eyes, tries to feel nothing, “it’s better that way.”

 

Seth presses his chest to Dean’s back, just barely. He isn’t stopping Dean from placing his hand on the doorknob. His arms are wrapped around Dean’s shoulders, the length of his limbs spilling over Dean’s own. Still not trying to hold him or trap him. Dean doubles into his defensive hunch. Seth sighs into him but doesn’t move, “Please… Dean, please.”

 

He breathes for a moment, feeling the rise and fall, two men, together. Hounds or brothers or… whatever this thing was becoming.  _ Before _ . He tries to pull the weight of him, the smell of him, like evidence. Taking note of how lightly Seth’s fingertips could run along his arms, his chest, he tries to file it all away. His heart is a plastic bag, memory one, memory two, exhibit A, exhibit B, zipped, tossed in a box, locked in a locker. Cold case. Don’t reopen it. Don’t even think about it.

 

“I gotta go,” he hopes Seth doesn’t hear his voice breaking.

 

He’s surprised that Seth follows him into the hallway, “tell me what I have to do.”

 

“Nothing to be done.”

 

“I mean it, Dean. I mean it.”

 

He hears Seth’s voice breaking, somehow feels those soft, dark eyes pleading at his back, but he keeps moving. 

 

“Is it about the title? Huh? If it is, I’ll drop it now. I’ll throw it away. I’ll take it to Vince and tell him I never want a title shot again. What do you need?”

 

Dean has nothing to say, that’s what he tells himself. 

 

_ How long is this fucking hallway?  _

 

He moves on, searching for a door to a stairwell or a courtyard he can slip through or a balcony he can jump off of, anything but this. He hears Seth disappear, the shuffle of his feet against the linoleum, the slamming of a door. He takes a moment to catch his breath, takes a few more steps…

 

_ Don’t, don’t, don’t. _

 

He looks back.

 

And Seth is coming out of the door, walking back towards him, carrying the Intercontinental Championship.

 

“Take it.”

 

“What?”

 

“Take it.”

 

“I don’t want anything to be handed to me, I’m not gonna take it, I don’t need anyone to give me any damn thing, are you kidding me-”

 

“Then fight me for it! Okay? Fight me for it next week. Tomorrow night, I’ll pull strings, we’ll do it on Smackdown. Fight me as long as you have to. I’ll do my damnedest, I’ll give my all. I don’t wanna put hands on you. I don’t wanna hurt you ever again, but if that’s what it takes, we’ll go again. Til we’re black and blue.”

 

“No.”

 

“No?”

 

“Nah, man.”

 

“Dean,” Seth’s tone drops, serious as poison, his determination possessing him again. “Look at me.”

 

Seth drops to his knees. He lays the title on the floor. He looks back up at Dean.

 

And Dean does look at him. He gives him that much. They hold that gaze for a moment and Dean can feel the tears welling in his eyes, can feel his face running hot.

 

“It-” Seth’s eyes are glittering with tears that won’t fall, his face that vulnerable plea, that sweet, soft beckoning that Dean met only a year go. “It doesn’t mean anything to me, if I lose you.”

 

“I’m not… I might not be who I was.”

 

“What?”

 

“Get up, pick it up, get up.” 

 

Seth does as he’s asked.

 

“I was knocking on death’s door. And I felt… I felt fear. I felt really and truly… I felt fucking scared. I don’t get scared. I get… full of it, full of fire, I let the chaos in, I stand in the middle of it, I feel… all of that. But I don’t feel scared. And I did. Because I was dying, my body was dying, giving up.”

 

“I didn’t know. We didn’t know. You ne-”

 

“I never? I never? This is my fault now?”

 

“You’re not hearing me, hey, hey-”

 

Dean starts heading for the exit again, walking with the kind of swagger you only have if you know how to tear the world apart. “Nah, no heys, no hear me out, none of your games, Mister Architect. Got a name for every game you play.”

 

“I’m not playing game-”

 

“I shouldn’t have to tell you I’m hurting. What did you want, a cordial invitation?”

 

“I tried and never heard from you. I thought you’d changed your mind or wanted space-”

 

“I let you in again. AGAIN. I let you in. You made me. You made me care about you again.” 

 

“If you don’t want it, or this, or me… Dean, please-”

 

His throat was dry, his stomach in knots, and he couldn’t find it in him to give a shit that tears were falling down his face. He turned to face Seth and was face to face so quickly that Seth jumped.

 

“You made me want you again and to try again, you made me someone who wonders why you aren’t calling or visiting or trying.”

 

“I am trying now. I’m sorry, I am trying now.”

 

“I was dying,” Dean yells and drops his bag to the floor. He can hear Seth’s muffled cry and ragged breaths as he paces, delivering little taps to his jawline, clawing on the back of his head, feeling each of his teeth. He’s trying to climb back into his body. Something’s telling him it’d be a bad time to check out. Trying to look at Seth without shaking, cocking his head to the side to avoid direct eye contact, he thinks carefully before he speaks.

 

“I was almost nothing... and I’ve never been anything. Never.”

 

“You would never b-”

 

“Stop. I mean it. Listen.”

 

Dean took a breath, then another. They were all coming in wrong and going out rough. _ Fuck it _ . Things had never been pretty with the two of them. Why would it start now?

 

“I’m not like you. I’m not like Roman… I didn’t… I didn’t get to sit and think about my dreams. And my future. I got here. I got here… and maybe it’s hard work, maybe it’s luck, hell, I don’t know, cause most of my life I wasn’t really alive. Point A to point B, rinse and repeat. Never thought I’d see points C or D or even a dilapidated rest area slight past B point. How the hell did I get this? It’s like I woke up and I was 28 and I was here. And you were here. And Roman. And I had no stories to tell, no legacy to follow, no carefully curated dream and milestones to go by.”

 

Seth takes his hand. Dean doesn’t give anything back. Still, he lets it happen. Let’s Seth be there. Let’s Seth be a thing comforting the skin he isn’t sure he’s in.

 

“You guys did it right. You guys did… getting hurt right. You came back and you were part of something and yeah, it was a setback and your body is the enemy now, we all share that… but you got better, you got better fast, and you returned to those paths, that legacy, that story you always knew you’d write or live or finish.”

 

Dean stares at the floor and the hideous pattern of the linoleum blurs through his tears. He has to struggle to take a deep breath and clear his throat before he can say,

 

“I was dying. One injury and I fucked it all up. I was dying and I was alone. And I thought about, I think about it, what the hell am I? What’s the point of me?”

 

“We love you.”

 

“That’s not-”

 

“We do. Always. I… I know I always-”

 

“I can’t do this.”

 

Seth nods as Dean pulls his hand away, preparing once again to haul ass. Dean watches a teardrop trace his cheek, fall into his beard. He thinks about how good it would feel to run his thumb just under Seth’s eyes. He thinks about pressing his mouth on his, staying there, tasting him, forgetting all of it.

 

_ We were supposed to be invincible. Immortal. But i’m just me. This. _

 

“I’d do anythin-”

 

“Yeah… I just… I guess I wish you would have.”

 

“One more thing, Dean.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I love you.”

 

“Alright.”

 

He can’t see him anymore, but he knows more tears are falling down that face. He finally finds the god forsaken exit. He replays it, _I love you_. Tells himself it didn't happen, he's making it up, looking for a reason to stay, clinging to a past he never really had. Seth. Seth Rollins, standing there, looking at him, _I love you_. It doesn't check out. And where would it go? The same nowhere as everything else.

He roughly wipes his nose and eyes and tries to focus on finding the rental he had some company drop. He remembers the color and general shape but not the actual make and model.

 

“Heyo.”

 

_ Goddammit _ .

 

“Hey.”

 

He tries to keep walking but he has no idea what he’s doing so eventually he just circles back, gets it over with.

 

“You alright,” Roman asks.

 

Dean lets loose a cruel laugh.

 

“We doing that?”

 

“Not doing anything.”

 

“You need to play bullshit, play bullshit.”

 

Dean has no response, he just bites the inside of his cheek, tries to stifle more bitter laughter.

 

“There’s always a spot for you in my car, but I’m leaving now,” Roman opens his arm and tries to look Dean in his eyes but he refuses to let Roman have that.

 

“I missed you. You’re my brother. Til the end. But you need to tell me what you want. You need to tell me- both of us-”

 

“I don’t want a goddamn thing.”

 

“When you’re ready to cut the bullshit, I’ll be around, uce.” 

 

Dean watches Roman drive away.

 

Seth enters the same level of the parking garage. Right on cue.

 

They share a look. Their look. Patented. But ever evolving. Tinged now, with the black tainted swell that rode it's way in on Dean's brand new failings. Dean hits the alarm on the keys given to him, he tries to communicate something like _ I’m sorry _ , something like  _ fuck you _ , something like _ I’m a mess _ , something like _ let me go _ , something like _ I lo _ -

 

But he doesn’t know if there’s a face for that.

 

He doesn’t know if Seth recognizes anything about him now.

 

He sure doesn’t.

He finds the car. Seth is still standing there when he turns for the exit.


End file.
